Blue Eyes
by Tread Softly
Summary: Simon is not what Kable expected. Kable/Simon slash.


**Title**: Blue Eyes

**Author**: Tread Softly / lielac

**Rated**: T (sensuality, language)

**Disclaimer**: I don't own/have anything to do with the movie Gamer.

**Archiving**: Usually anywhere, just ask first.

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Simon is not what Kable expected.

Some programmer geek with glasses. A retainer. Maybe even suspenders. But not this. This has Kable beside himself.

Simon is average height for a boy his age, but that's about where the average ends. He's got pale skin, porcelain almost, skin that speaks volumes to hours upon hours spent indoors. He's lanky, thin. Simon is built like a sylph, all slender lines and tenuous contours. At the moment those contours are encased in a loose fitting tank adorned with acid-washed grey stripes and a (very) tight pair of jeans. The jeans, like a second skin, taper down his lissome legs ending at a pair of unassuming sneaker-clad feet.

All of this is aesthetically pleasing, Kable loathes to admit, but none of it is what has caught his attention so ardently.

It's the eyes.

_Simon's_ eyes.

They are blue, but to simply state their color seems the understatement of the millennia. Simon's eyes are blue like the cloudless summer sky would envy, blue like the entire ocean frozen over, blue like all the hearts this cocky kid must be breaking on a daily basis. And he probably doesn't even know it. It's the eyes, you see. Kable can't take his own off them.

Neither of them speak, which is not so shocking really, as they hadn't done a lot of that to begin with. But the situation begs words, begs _action_, and both seem paused in place, stuck to the floor like drying cement.

Simon breaks first. "Kable..."

His voice is low, but rich like mahogany, and Kable thinks it might be rather idiotic to compare someone's voice to a genre of _wood_-and fuck it all, those eyes are watching him, all innocent and wide and begging for a confirmation.

For a moment his mood shifts - this dizzying sense of pleasant surprise is replaced with something akin to rage and all the sudden his feet are no longer cemented to the ground. He's moving forward before he can stop himself.

There's something about Simon, about that exact innocence in those cerulean depths that has Kable reeling. It's unfair. It's cheap and disgusting. It is, in every sense of the word, _wrong_ that this kid gets to maintain his innocence, his wide-eyed trepidation after what he's done... What he's done through Kable's own hands.

Simon has killed. Simon has murdered. Simon has _maimed_. But by the gleaming in those pretty blue eyes, you'd think he'd never given it a fleeting thought.

_My psycho._ The words echo in Kable's head as he takes the boy by the wrists.

Simon lets out a startled gasp, struggling only for a moment before going still in Kable's rough grip. He knows he's no match in strength or stamina for the older man. He can only hope that Kable has finally shown up with some intention other than killing him. He has his reasons why, Simon feels, even if they'd be falsely projected. Simon had put him through literal hell, and all for the sake of his own entertainment and status. But he has reasons not to as well, Simon thinks desperately, remembering their last moments together as player and slayer. It's not a difficult thing to remember - it haunts Simon. It's there when he closes his eyes, it wakes him in a cold sweat from frenetic bouts of sleep, and it reminds him daily, _constantly_ of the bond he shares with the other man.

He had waited. Simon had waited for Kable. He didn't know how or when but he had believed, eventually, the ex-convict would turn up. Sooner or later, Simon would tell himself. He had to. He couldn't just leave it at that. _They_ couldn't just leave it at that. Something was missing, something unfinished.

In all honesty, after that day, after Kable was free and he disappeared, Simon had felt hollow. It was as if someone had severed his umbilical. Simon felt cold and incomplete. He had tried to fill his days with mindless and/or mind-numbing activity, but nothing was ever the same. Nothing took his mind too far from the slayer. So he waited.

And now here he was.

"You're here," Simon breathes the obvious, wrists bruising under Kable's unforgiving touch. He can't bring himself to really care.

But that's all it seems to take. Just like that Kable releases him and stalks away, putting ample distance between himself and the sinful teen.

Simon eyes him warily, moving slowly around the steel kitchen island between them. He picks nervously at the crust of the pistachio and grape sandwich he had been making when Kable had unceremoniously invited himself in.

"Where are your parents?" Kable demands, voice rough and graveled but like music to Simon's ears because it's the only one he's wanted to hear for so long.

He laughs in reply, the sound somewhat more bitter than he'd like.

Kable looks none-too-amused with the answer.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Simon supplies, eyes dropping to the cool counter. He's normally not shy, not in the least. Simon is good with communication, he's good at manipulation and getting what he wants. Simon's never at a loss for remark, but here, now, in the presence of Kable he finds himself stricken.

The older man sighs, running his hand through his short, cropped hair and over the stubble on his face as though he is tired. Probably not far from the truth, Simon thinks. He probably doesn't get much sleep either.

"You live here alone?" Kable asks, surveying the luxurious modern digs around him.

Simon merely shrugs. "It suits me."

"You don't know what suits you, you're 16," Kable scoffs.

"17," Simon corrects, ice-blue eyes snapping to meet Kable's gaze across the room. "And I'm fine on my own. Always have been. I prefer it, actually."

Kable takes it in, the moody admissions, and the way the kid's whole body seems to tense, suggesting the conversation has breached uncomfortable territory. Then again, what could they possibly have to talk about that, by anyone's standard definition, would be considered _comfortable_?

"Why are you here?" Simon asks fiercely, and for a moment Kable is taken back by the aggression in his tone.

"I can go," Kable offers.

"No, I just..." Simon trails, biting sharply into his lower lip.

A lip, Kable notices, that is pink, fleshy, and plump. He wishes he hadn't noticed that.

"Why now?" Simon finishes, eyes still lowered, refusing to meet Kable halfway.

So Kable closes in, forgetting for a moment why he put space between them at all.

"I felt like I owed it to you," Kable murmurs, only a few feet behind Simon now.

The teen turns to face him, but his eyes, those devastating blue orbs, stay level with Kable's chest. "And now that you've seen me?" Simon beckons, pearly teeth releasing his battered lip.

Kable doesn't answer. _Can't_ answer. If he said aloud what he was truly thinking (and wanting) it would make the idea seem all the more criminal. Still, there's no denying it. Simon and Kable move like magnets, they always have. No matter the miles, the fucking _pixels_ between, they are drawn effervescently to this - this as of yet unnamed chemical reaction that demands their exploration.

"I tried to stay away," Kable says quietly, reaching forward to ever-so-gently place his hands over the boy's narrow hips. He takes a step closer and Simon allows it whilst attempting to swallow his racing heartbeat.

"Look at me," Kable rasps and when those blue depths meet his it's all over. Every conventional fiber in his body is telling him to turn and walk away, to leave this kid behind and never look back, but his resolve is crumbling and all he wants to do is give in, submit to this hysterical control Simon has over him.

He cups the younger male's face in his large calloused hands, running the pads of his thumbs over flawless pale cheeks and beneath glossy questioning eyes.

"I missed you," Simon whispers, unmindful of whether or not it's even possible to miss someone you'd never technically met before. His eyes slip shut of their own accord as Kable closes the air between them.

"Cut me loose," Kable implores against Simon's lips, his warm breath parting them. He teases the petal-pink flesh, brushing against the folds but avoiding full-contact with them. A strong hand threads into bed-mussed chocolate brown hair.

"Never again," Simon gasps and then Kable's mouth finally descends over his. He moans faintly as Kable's hands drop away from his face to return to his hipbones where they tighten appreciatively.

The slayer presses the teen back against the island, cupping the supple curve of the younger man's ass as he thrusts his tongue into the warm cavern of Simon's eager mouth. They duel for a while, slick appendages curling and sliding in a heated dance, but eventually Simon relinquishes power, embracing his place in this new game. The tables have turned and he couldn't be happier.

He doesn't miss a beat when Kable suddenly lifts him, easily transferring the boy's weight from the floor to the cluttered counter. The kiss never breaks, not even when Kable slides a hand up one of Simon's denim-covered thighs and spreads his legs, stepping between them. With Simon perched on the island, and Kable between his delicate limbs, they are perfectly matched, level, and balanced.

As Kable slips an expert hand underneath the hem of his shirt to caress the smooth skin there, Simon realizes he doesn't feel so empty anymore, so unfinished. He feels like beginning all over again, and so he smiles under Kable's affections.

If Kable could hear Simon's thoughts in his head, he'd probably agree with the sentiment. But wait, they've already done that. And besides, with those eyes, Kable figures the boy won't need to use words that often anyways.

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Hope you guys enjoyed it! There's not enough Gamer fic out there, and certainly not enough Kable/Simon! I'm just happy to do my part. I'd like to write more on this pairing...let me know if you're interested! ;)


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